


make a wish on our sorry little hearts

by thisismy_design (thisismydesignn)



Category: Reign (TV)
Genre: F/M, Half-Sibling Incest, M/M, Masturbation, OT3, Other, Sexual Fantasy, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-15
Updated: 2013-11-15
Packaged: 2018-01-01 15:29:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1045561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisismydesignn/pseuds/thisismy_design
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a fine mess they've found themselves in, twisted into intricate knots of desire. Perhaps all they need is an extra pair of hands to untangle them.</p>
<p>Spoilers for 1x05, "A Chill in the Air."</p>
            </blockquote>





	make a wish on our sorry little hearts

**Author's Note:**

> Because OT3s solve everything. If only they'd _talk_ to each other...
> 
> Title from "A Love Like War" by All Time Low.

Francis sees them.  
  
He sees them, and he _wants.  
  
_ Jealousy flares in his chest, but it’s desire that steals his breath; he clenches his fists and turns away, but it does nothing to mute the blood that rushes in his ears, dull the heat that floods his cheeks.  
  
He remembers all too well Mary opening up beneath him, her tongue between his lips, warm body tangled with his, but this time something darker creeps into the back of his mind. He imagines Bash stepping too close, hands in his hair, his kisses as unyielding as the press of his body.  
  
(He imagines both at once, kissing one another, kissing _him,_ hands on bare skin and heated gazes long past the point of no return—)  
  
So he turns to Olivia, because what else can he do? But he’s tasted far sweeter now (Mary’s face in his hands, his lips on her neck, desperation and innocence twisted into one), and he comes away less satisfied than ever. He brings her off with his fingers and tongue instead and sends her away, deaf to her protests; alone, he curls a hand in the sheets as he imagines a cascade of dark hair, the gleam of blue eyes.  
  
He comes into his own fist as though he’s unraveling at the seams, ignoring the pang of emptiness that creeps into his chest.  
  
(Too soon, he knows, it will demand to be felt.)

\---

“Oh, is that all it takes?” Bash asks in regards to Mary’s happiness.  
  
“Well, that, and your brother,” she tells him, and he sees all too clearly the smile that hovers on her lips.  
  
(He wants to kiss it away.)  
  
(So he does.)  
  
 _Can’t, shouldn’t_ — but Bash has never been good at doing what he should.  
  
Mary kisses him, and he takes it as permission, tasting the drink on her tongue and the sweetness of her lips and it’s intoxicating in itself, leaving him dizzy when she forces herself to pull away. She apologizes profusely, and he knows she’s thinking of Francis, but there’s a hope that lingers in his mind, one that was once too dangerous to consider, and he can’t help but wonder.  
  
He’s seen the way Francis looks at her. The heat in his gaze, _that_ he recognizes well, but there’s something deeper there, something he’s not even sure Francis himself has fully acknowledged yet. Bash can hardly bear to think of taking that from his brother (he may _want,_ but his conscience runs deeper than he’ll admit), but if they were to…share?  
  
He imagines the heat of that gaze focused on _him,_ and suddenly Mary’s body isn’t the only one he wants to feel beneath his own.  
  
Bash gazes out at the lake, torturing himself with thoughts of Francis’ hands against his chest, the noises Mary would sigh into his mouth, the wicked smiles they would share as they teased him to the brink and back time and time again.  
  
He takes another drink.

\---

With the taste of both brothers on her lips and the buzz of alcohol in her veins, Mary’s paralyzed. She wants, she _wants,_ and she’s not even sure what she wants: both, or maybe neither, an end to the madness that is life at court and a start to something less complicated but still perhaps a bit dangerous.  
  
They both _take_ like they know what they want, and she wants to know what that’s like. To be unafraid to want, to take for herself, but she knows she can’t, not yet. (Not _ever,_ a voice tells her, but she won’t entertain the thought, not when her heart still pounds at the memory of both their lips upon her own.)  
  
She paces in the confines of her chambers until she can stand it no longer; remembering Kenna’s advice, she takes matters into her own hands the only way she knows how.  
  
(Bash’s hands on her waist, thumbs leaving bruises that decorate her hips; Francis’ teeth leaving marks of their own on her collarbone, lips pressing just above her heart, the curve of her breast. Bash’s fingers ghosting over her nipples as Francis spreads her thighs; Bash knotting a hand in his brother’s hair as he kisses Francis, then Mary, urging them forward even as they draw him closer. Francis inside of her, because anything else is still unimaginable, but the heat of Bash’s body presses to her own, too, their fingers tangled together on her flushed skin as she gasps and comes—)  
  
—with a hand between her legs, shuddering and desperate and it’s nowhere near enough but it’s all she has.  
  
She curls herself around a pillow, still trembling, trying to quell the racing thoughts that won’t leave her be. It’s futile: even restless sleep torments her with dreams of what cannot be, though she wakes with a determination she can’t quite explain.  
  
She is not _just a girl,_ much as she may wish to be; she is a queen, no mere pawn in their games. Bash continues to flirt endlessly as Francis’ fingers brush over Olivia’s, but Mary will wait, because she understands now the power of desire.  
  
Two pairs of blue eyes fall upon her, meeting in the middle, and she knows: she will win.


End file.
